The last things that fell down were cleaned up by Lovecraft. It has to be said that humans do have their limits, and the body structures of many creatures are more suitable for work than humans. For example, Lovecraft’s tentacles are only as long as

Just wipe it and you can wipe off the dirt on the floor.

Then Lovecraft took on the job of cleaning, which was really convenient. As long as he slowly dragged his tentacles over, he could open up a shiny and clean road behind him.

Edgar Allan Poe was eating whole wheat bread with jam, his cheeks were bulging, and he whispered to Sigma: "I wonder if I can wipe off the blood stain reaction."

Sigma thought for a moment subconsciously, then suddenly reacted and looked at him with helpless eyes: "Isn't your idea a bit dangerous?"

"But don't you think this setting is interesting? If it were written in a detective book."

Poe carefully fed the remaining bread to Karl, who was hooking his collar with his pointed paws. Then he looked at his friend and said in a somewhat encouraging tone. Those gray eyes were somewhat similar to Sigma's.

There is a shining light inside.

Although he is usually withdrawn and easily nervous, when it comes to reasoning, he can always show a special personality charm, and even his voice becomes confident, with a kind of pride that a genius should have.

"People always think that the murderer of a case in a mystery book will be a certain person. However, the existence of non-human beings, large groups committing crimes, and the possibility of accidents or coincidences are often ignored. This is a blind spot in reasoning and a blind spot in human thinking.

.”

Edgar Allan Poe spoke quickly against the dark circles under his eyes caused by staying up late a few days ago, his tone becoming more and more excited, and a fire of fighting spirit seemed to rise in his eyes:

"What I want to write is a book that starts from the misunderstandings of human thinking! It uses careful logic and "impossible" ideas to convince readers!"

Using such an "impossible" book to challenge the detective who defeated you back then is how you respect your opponent!

Poe clenched his fist confidently.

——If that doesn't work, he can also add elements of horror to it. Mr. Lovecraft's tentacles are also very suitable in this aspect. Even if the other party really cracks it, he must at least scare him.

After all, this is a battle of revenge that he has carefully prepared for a long time. No matter what, he must be prepared to make the other party suffer.

"But that's not the reason why you didn't answer me several times when I asked you what kind of drink you wanted, Mr. Poe."

Lucy's faint voice sounded.

Today, the little girl wearing a light yellow short skirt and a white top opened her eyes and put the tray with drinks and glasses between the two people in a menacing manner, making a "clang" sound as the walls of the glasses collided with each other.

She supported the table with her hands, raised her head, and asked again with a deliberately straight face: "What drink do you want?"

"Uh-oh! Um, nana, nana, that juice?"

Edgar Allan Poe was so frightened that he hugged Carl subconsciously and uttered a word he was most familiar with.

"Pfft." When Lucy saw the other party's appearance, she couldn't keep her face straight, and laughed all of a sudden. She even patted Poe on the shoulder in a very adult way, poured him a glass of juice, and gave Sigma

Pour a glass of milk.

"Kitahara said you like drinking milk very much. You can add honey to it!" the red-haired girl said in a brisk tone, and then ran to the next person waving her red ponytail.

Lucy's life in the group is pretty good, and her personality is becoming increasingly lively and bold. Although her red hair is still very hard to the touch, it no longer lacks sufficient nutrition and looks frizzy as it did at the beginning.

.

"Huh? Lucy, wait a minute!"

Sigma seemed to want to catch the other party and replace his own milk, but in the end he failed to catch him, so he had to show a helpless expression.

"I actually don't like drinking milk that much."

The young man poked the glass and said to Edgar Allan Poe

He muttered vaguely, but there was no hint of complaint in his tone. It was more like some kind of laborious explanation:

"I'm just a little curious about why Kitahara and Kaede sometimes like to add creamer to their coffee... hmm."

The detective just hugged his raccoon, turned his head and smiled dullly. This guy who was born with a pessimistic view of social life seemed to have been soaked in the sunshine in Key West, and now he is somewhat used to it.

The feeling of someone beside you.

Kitahara and Kaede found a ukulele that looked a bit like a carrot from somewhere, and simply played country music with an unknown name by the window.

It sounded like lazy sunshine, lazy wind and palm leaves, and whales turning lazily in the sea.

The traveler was leaning against the window and humming along. A few sentences went off-key, but no one cared. It was a very casual singing style. The sun shone in from behind him, and the shadows of the trees were sparse and dancing.

, falling on his shoulders, with mottled patterns like swaying waves on the lake.

When Fitzgerald came down from upstairs, he played a few beats with great interest. Hemingway was smoking on the balcony and did not come down. Maybe he was still watching the fireworks, or maybe he just didn't want to watch Lovecraft's Waist.

She was twirling her cat in circles.

After all, Lovecraft had a really good temper. If Hemingway asked him for a cat, he might be reluctant to part with it, but he would still return the cat to him seriously, so that Hemingway would not be able to find a place to attack further.

Seagulls are calling.

The combat staff officer of the combination stared intently at the snow-white birds flying by the window. Then when she discovered that Fitzgerald had also come down, she said nervously, pretending that she was not distracted by the window, and hurried to the dining table.

on, trying to make myself less out of place.

Miss Margaret didn't care so much. She looked at the scenery outside the window, her eyes full of indifference and boredom, until she saw Hawthorne's figure in the vague shadow of the window glass. The eldest lady almost subconsciously let her body

Stand a little straighter and raise your chin slightly.

The pastor seemed to be passing by and didn't notice the other person's little movements at all.

"What are you looking at?" he asked casually, and Margaret noticed the Bible in the other person's arms. It was new because the one she had a few days ago had been destroyed by her magical power.

Margaret knew that the other party was going to church, so she couldn't help but feel a little irritable in her heart. She frowned impatiently and said in a cold tone:

"Go and see the sea."

The beach is completely different from the way to the church. She doesn't want an annoying priest hanging around her at all. She just wants to be quiet today.

"I'll go see the sea too."

Margaret was stunned for a moment. She turned her head and found that Hawthorne was not looking at her. He just slightly raised his calm eyes, and the ice green eyes reflected the scenery outside under the lenses.

There were scattered fireworks blooming inside.

Then she suddenly realized something dull - today is the day of the fireworks display.

There was a very distant popping sound, like the sound of an impatiens spitting out its seeds.

"When that day has not completely passed

The wind is kissing a wave

Time is so long, time is so long

Until we run towards the sea and then forget.”

Beiyuan and Feng opened their eyes, turned their heads to look outside, and raised the corners of their mouths slightly, revealing a faint smile.

There were many people chatting and strolling lively outside, and some people stopped. Those who stopped looked curiously at the hotel and the person holding a ukulele and singing by the window sill on the second floor. There were also people.

People were greeting each other like a crowd below, and there were people whistling, and children cheering and screaming loudly.

People in Key West are always a little overly enthusiastic. They are like fireworks that explode when you poke them. Full of happiness and rich emotions burst out, splashing everyone's face.

Full of brilliant colors.

I don’t know if it’s because it’s too bright this summer, or if they are born with this cheerful look.

Kitahara and Kaede thought so. At the same time, they smiled and pressed the strings of the ukulele with their fingers. They strummed it lightly, and they were still singing in response. Their voices sounded loose and gentle:

"The palm leaves passed, and

Seashells and chamomile, flying fish and coral reefs

There are birds flying in the sky

You're not wandering..."

In the rough sea of ​​people, he saw Hemingway on the street. The middle-aged man was squatting and looking at a stray cat with messy fur.

The lame cat held a worn-out doll in its mouth and purred. Its eyes were round, but the pupils were vertical lines, and its tail was raised from behind, making it look very fierce.

Hemingway hesitated for a moment, but in the end he did not reach out to the cat. Instead, he followed the crowd to a nearby stall and picked out a cute-looking plush doll among a group of gaudy souvenirs. No one noticed.

Then gently place it next to the cat.

The cat took a few steps back inexplicably. Seeing that Hemingway also backed away, the cat came over to smell the doll.

It looked at its worn-out doll, whose cotton was almost leaking out, and finally raised its head, taking cat steps to drag its own doll back into the grass, and after a while, it also dragged back the one Hemingway gave it.

.

"Meow..." It made a not-so-pleasant hoarse sound in the grass, and then there was no more swaying movement inside. However, Hemingway still looked at it quietly for a while, his eyes looking gentle and slightly sad.

He thought about his cat and the various gadgets in his room.

He still has cats, but they are no longer the ones that accompanied him before the superpower war. But those gadgets are gone, because he can’t be considered a family now. Strictly speaking, he is still a homeless man, living in the United States and the sea.

Wandering above.

Hemingway withdrew his gaze. He looked solemn and solemn, which reminded people of some kind of hard stone used to make monuments. But soon he went to buy a bottle of wine and drank two or three sips.

A man was chatting and making bets.

"I don't believe you've ever killed a lion using classical hunting methods, old man! You look like you could handle a sheep!"

The young man shouted loudly, his young and competitive eyes looking drunk: "Unless you beat me in arm wrestling!"
To be continued...